


A Matter of Parenting

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, a minor crisis, alfred wins again, dick assumes the worst, he might not be wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Dick gets a call from Bruce about some kind of emergency and it is not at all what he was expecting. Like, not in a million years.But they are just that kind of family, and even Alfred isn't exempt at this point.Gen!Family Drama/Fluff.





	

Dick gets the call around nine in the morning, which is pretty early for him or pretty late, depending on how you want to look at it.

“Dick,” Bruce says, sounding tense but still commanding, “I need you.”

And then the line goes dead. Dick speeds a little on the way there, just in case. Bruce didn’t sound hurt but it’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

He runs up the front steps of Wayne Manor and into the house, calling out, “Bruce!” as he enters.

“In here!” the reply comes from the kitchen.

Dick hurries toward the kitchen to find Bruce standing at the counter with his arms crossed, looking over the kitchen island at a boy of seven or eight who is sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his dangling legs. Damian is in another seat, scowling fiercely, and when Dick comes in he jumps to his feet and snarls,

“Grayson, _you_ deal with this,” and leaves.

“Bruce,” Dick says, quietly, stepping around the counter. “I don’t know if-- I mean, another one? Really?”

Bruce glowers at him so fiercely that Dick bites his own tongue.

Then Bruce grabs his arm and pulls him out into the hall, away from the sad looking boy,

“He’s not mine,” Bruce whispers fiercely.

“Yeah, I mean, technically out of five only Damian–” Dick tries to say.

“He’s _not_ mine, Dick,” Bruce interrupts. “He’s _Alfred’s_.”

Dick has to lean against the wall. He’s glad they’re already close to it.

“What?” Dick hisses back at him, leaning his head back to the kitchen doorway to peer at the dark-haired pale little boy, glumly kicking the table legs. He turns back to Bruce, who already has a hand to his head.

“Someone dropped him off this morning with a bunch of papers. I thought it was some kind of mistake but the paperwork checks out and Alfred didn’t even deny it. Apparently, he had,” Bruce lowers his voice even more, and sounds like it pains him to even say the words, “a fling in London after the first run-in with Bane.”

“No!” Dick exclaims, clapping a hand over his mouth to hold back his horror and laughter. “Bruce, he’s like, _old_.”

“Well, eight years ago he was still young enough,” Bruce says. He rubs his temples with pressing fingers.

“So, what are you going to do?” Dick whispers.

“Me? Nothing,” Bruce says. “He’s going to stay here, of course, since his mother is dead.”

“Dead? What happened? And where _is_ Alfred?” Dick looks back into the kitchen and up and down the hall.

“A car accident, I think. Alfred was listed as next of kin. And he asked me to watch him. He said he was going to have a drink and lie down.”

“No shit,” Dick is giggling now, and he knows it’s incredibly inappropriate but he’s somehow more nervous than amused. He manages to settle himself and then more soberly ask, “Have you talked to him? The boy? What’s his name, anyway?”

“Alastair,” Bruce says.

“Alastair? _Really?_ ”

“Yes?” the young boy is right there in the doorway near Dick’s elbow and he and Bruce both jump.

“Hi, I’m Dick,” Dick says, letting himself smile broadly. However weird it all is, he’s not going to take it out on some grieving kid. He wonders momentarily if his shock is akin to what the Kane family felt when they found that Bruce had taken him in.

“Hello,” the boy answers.

“I’m your…I’m Bruce’s son. So I’m your…brother?” Dick glances sidelong at Bruce to confirm this, but Bruce is giving him a look of both disdain and horror, like he is simultaneously questioning Dick’s mental process and having his own epiphany.

When he speaks, the words are a little choked, and in a strangled, not sentimental, way.

“I think he’s…your uncle?”

“Hmm,” Alistair says at the same time Dick mutters, “oh my god no,” under his breath.

And then Alfred is walking toward them in the hall, looking pale but resolute.

“Alistair,” he says, as if he’s been saying it for years. “I’ve prepared the room next to Master Damian for you.”

“Thank you, Papa,” the boy answers a bit stiffly. “I’m sure it will be perfectly suited to my liking.”

He even _sounds_ like a tiny Alfred.

Dick and Bruce exchange a wide-eyed look.

“Perhaps you’d like to assist me with dinner preparations and we can talk?” Alfred says, ignoring their expressions.

“That would be fine, Papa,” Alistair says, looking down suddenly, and sounding close to tears.

Then the doorbell rings.

Alfred leaves them to answer it and Alistair follows him, head still hanging down.

The door swings open and a woman says,

“Hullo, Ali. Was he behaved for you, Mr. Pennyworth?”

Dick’s jaw drops. Alfred is assuring the woman yes, he was perfectly fine, and the woman sees them in the hall and waves. The boy is hugging her waist.

“Hullo! Thanks for lending him! Ali just adores Cass. C’mon, Ali, we’ve got errands to run.”

The door shuts and Dick is already yelling,

“What the _hell_ , Bruce?”

But he turns and Bruce is slumped against the wall, white as a ghost.

“Alistair is the younger brother of one of Miss Cassandra’s dance classmates,” Alfred says from down the hall. He continues:

“He is a delightful and clever child and I owe him $50.”

Alfred gives Bruce an extremely sharp look,

“And we will _never_ wash tactical boots in the kitchen sink again, not even for ‘just a spot’. Is that clear?”

Bruce nods mutely and Alfred disappears into the kitchen.

Dick looks at Bruce and then at the spot where Alfred was just standing. He knows his mouth is hanging open and he doesn’t care.

“That man,” he says slowly, “is the most brutal man I have ever met and I’m proud that he’s my mom.”

Bruce can’t even muster a scowl.


End file.
